YOSEOB POV

"We don't have butter," I heard Taemin say to himself as he bent over, head stuck in Blithe's fridge. "Or apples... or cream... or like anything..." 

"I'll go to the store," Minho offered from his post at the register, typing away at the computer as he talked. "My shift's over in ten minutes, I'll do it then. Yeseob, when do you end?" 

I put down the empty glasses and leaned over the sink to check the times. "Same as you," I replied, while my insides churned with worry. 

"Okay, could you come help?" I hummed a positive response, facing the dirty plates once again, but my throat felt too tight. You'll be fine, I tried to convince myself. You're not going to see him. You're gonna go to the store, get some things, and come back. Okay?

"I'll get someone else, too," Minho muttered, mostly to himself, his fingers still flashing away. "I think Kikwang doesn't have a shift until three." 

Taemin pushed himself away from the refrigerator, heaving a heavy sigh before joining Doojoon, who was taking a order, in the main room of Blithe.

Outside, the snow had melted with the unusually high temperatures yesterday, and then frozen solid over the bitter night. The result was ice rink- like sidewalks and blocks of slightly crumbly ice in the place of the heaps of snow. Icicles dripped from every edge, and the far below freezing weather and gusty wind was enough to drive half of the population indoors, while the rest hurried by, hands shoved in pockets and heads down, trying to save noses and ears. 

There was five days until Christmas. More than a month since I've moved to Seoul. Less than a month since I began working at Blithe. One day since I saw Junhyung. One day since I almost kissed Kikwang. One day since I almost kissed Kikwang. 

Do I like him? Kikwang, surly and sharp and secretive, but so alone? Kikwang, who may have hurt me, but I haven't done anything less. Kikwang, with a mystery grave and a mystery past. Kikwang, with those big eyes and fair skin and sharp tongue. Kikwang, who, strangely enough, I had began to wish he was there when he was not. 

I don't know. I do, don't I? I mean, I tried to kiss him. That counts as something. But if I like Kikwang, wouldn't that mean that I'm over Junhyung? 

So why, if I did truly move on from him, did Junhyung have such an effect on me? Why does Junhyung still have such an effect on me? Will I have to live like this? Haunted in fear of just one man, just one man. 

He's just a man. Just a person. So why does he have this power over me? Why am I so afraid of him? 

Why am I so afraid?

Fifteen minutes later, Minho had successfully recruited a reluctant Kikwang, and dragged me away from Blithe's counter. We zipped up jackets, founds hats, and pulled on boots as Minho, already dressed for the frigid outdoors, scrawled down what we needed. I avoided looking at Kikwang, instead finding anything other than him to put my eyes. He layered up silently, not even a sigh at being forced to go shopping in this weather when he wasn't even working, while I did the same. It was incredibly awkward, but since I thought that talking would only make it worse, I stayed silent. 

Finally, mercifully, Minho appeared from Blithe, a list in one hand and keys to the single car for Blithe jangling in his other. "Let's go." 

I rode in the backseat, while Minho navigated the frozen streets and Kikwang silently occupied shotgun. Minho had the radio, which helped dissipate some of the awkwardness, and he was humming quietly along. The world outside was encased in ice, even roofs of some of the houses gleaming with sheets of ice. The only spots of color was occasional people as they hurried about their business, traffic lights as they flickered from red to green to yellow, and color seen through the forever ice of shops. All man-made, like nature wanted to keep it all white splashed with black, and man wanted to defy. 

We finally made it to the store, and quickly unloaded, rushing from the warm, heated car to the warm store. But we forgot about the ice, so when I hit a particularly slippery patch, I was jolted forward, and would've crashed, head first, into the idea if Kikwang hadn't reached out, from his more steady position, and hauled me back. 

"Thanks," I tried to tell him, out of breath, but he was already hurrying towards the door, in the footsteps of the obvious Minho, seemingly like it had never happened. I released a gust of breath that billowed out into the air like smoke, and followed the two, placing my feet more carefully until I stepped off the minefield and into the safe cement of the grocery store.

We finally finished an hour later, arms loaded down with bags as we stepped gingerly to the car, more worried about breaking our nose than our nose falling off from hypothermia, which felt very real by the time I had dumped the plastic bags in the truck and slammed the door to the slightly warmer belly.

Kikwang followed me, sliding into the passenger seat, impassive as ever, and Minho hurried back around, rubbing his red hands together as he started the car. 

"Thanks for helping." 

Kikwang and I only nodded. 

That night, it was even colder, if the gust of air following Henry as he came in for our night shift was anything to go by. Customers rushed into Blithe for the warmth, stayed long enough to finish off one of our famous hot chocolates and a cinnamon roll, lingered for a couple refills, a chat with a server, and a book or two, and then reluctantly voyaged out back into the wilderness.

The music playing over the speakers played, every couple songs, a classic Christmas song, and the strings of lights, both outside and inside, that hung year round, was mirrored in almost every window on the street, if only you look outside the window facing the street. The blackboard now featured holiday species; peppermint hot chocolate, cookies, candy ribbons, and the snowy arrangements that only Taemin's and T.K's nimble fingers were able to create.

The holiday season always increased Blithe's customers, I was told, and so the number of coffee cakes and pastrys and mostly everything we sold was increased to last us to the end of the days that were always busy. But there were still lulls in the day, and as the night drew to a close, only a couple people stayed around, most, I think, to avoid going out in the cold. Taemin was behind the counter, filling lobster claws with focused intensity, Henry was helping one customer pick out cookies for the tins that we sell for $5, and I was manning the tables, cleaning off the empty ones, and checking on the occupied tables whenever it looked like they needed something. It was quiet, worlds, when spoken, soft, and warm, and peaceful. That's why it was all the more a knife to the heart when the bell jingled above the door, and he stepped through.

I looked up; and there he was. But he looked so different than he had two days ago, and so like the man I had fallen for, that I was frozen in place. His hair was straight, falling in a lock in front of his eyes: His eyes, that had seemed so hard and forgiving before, but now were only soft and chocolate brown and frammed by curling lashes. He wore a simple coat, like it wasn't that cold outside, and the gaze that wandered over the walls and the bookshelves of Blithe, were nonjudging and even a bit interested. And then they landed on me.

I couldn't move. I couldn't breath. All I could see in front of me was the man that I had run so far from, but pretty and soft-edged, not like the shearing, pointed edges I had come to know so well. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. All I could do is stare, vulnerable, defenseless, against this man that seemed to have a hidden Mr. Hyde.

He took a single step toward me, and the creak of wood in Blithe, my Blithe, my place that I thought he would never find, and it was too loud. He's too real. He's too perfect, and I can't tear my eyes away and I can't move even though I want to, I want to run so bad. 

He takes another step, then another, and another. Until we're right up close, and I can see him better now and I wish I had the courage to run. He opens his mouth, and his eyes search mine, and it's the first time I've seen him hesitant, shy, almost, in a long, long time. He closes his mouth, swallows, and tred again. This time he succeeds. 

"I'm... I'm sorry." 

And I suddenly am able to run, to run from this man that can't be predicted and is so opposite from himself and I love him, too much, and seeing him only helps my love, and I run, I run, I don't care, I only run.

JUNHYUNG POV

I met him

on a windy October day.

he didn't know me.

But I wanted to know him.

He knew me,

and I loved him.

I called him Flower,

Even if he hated it.

He loved me, 

I became a monster.

I don't know

Why.

He left me,

as I would have told him

to do

If I wasn't me.

I missed him,

more than I should have,

for I was the one 

That drove him away.

I can't let go,

so I came,

and I don't know.

I still love him.

Here's a nice long chapter for you peeps. I LOVE YOU GUYS

Okay, so here's a reason why all my updates are short: Im literally the slowest writer on the planet, and also a person with the attention span of like, an inanimate object. Which doesn't even make sense. Whatever. But anyway, as you can imagine, those two qualities don't exactly help me update quickly. So I write what I can in one night, and then since I don't want you guys to wait any longer, I jut post the short chapter. So that's a little explaination, but I'm going to try to make them longer from now on.

So the 'Flower' title and the reference in Junhyung's POV is to his song, Flower, which I'm pretty sure all of you readers have heared. If you see the lyrics, or speak Korean or whatever, I thought that what Junhyung was saying was pretty much what Yoseob feels about him, so yeah.

LI hope you like this guys!